Daddies Don't Cry
by CarpeDiemEveryday
Summary: Small children don't really grasp what death is, and Sam is no different. Oneshot.


**A year? Has it SERIOUSLY been nearly a year since I wrote anything for here? Well, that's just terrible. Hence why I decided to finally write this little vignette-y story that I had in the back of my mind for a while. Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: No, in the past year, Carp did not become fabulously wealthy and buy the rights for Pokemon off of Satoshi Tajiri and Gamefreak and Nintendo and all the other people to whom the franchise belongs. This is still mere fanwork.**

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Daddies Don't Cry

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"You may see him now," she says, the lady in white. She has a funny hat on. You stand up, taller than anyone in the whole wide world, taller than Daisy's daddy, even. Your hands are in fists, like you're angry. Why are you angry, Daddy? Do the white hallways upset you too, with all the doors and the people who tell you to be quiet, don't run? Is it the strange smell that has you angry, Daddy? But, wait, you're looking at me, picking me up, and I see your face. Your face isn't angry. You're scared, Daddy. Why are you scared? Is there a monster in this room, like the one in my closet? Should I be scared too?

You hold me close to you, and nod at the lady with the funny hat. She opens the door, and you carry me in. Oh, look, Daddy, it's not so bad, it's light in here. There's even a window looking outside at a bunch of trees and, oh, look, Daddy, Grampa is here too! He looks a little sleepy though. Now you put me down and run your fingers through my hair. You kneel down, and now you're almost my height. Daddy, why are your eyes so sad?

"Now, remember what I said, son," you tell me. Your voice is sad, too. Is something wrong? "We need to be nice and quiet for your Grampa, okay? Or else they won't…" Why have you stopped, Daddy? Wait, Daddy, are you crying? But… daddies don't cry… do they? You start talking again, but your voice is starting to cry too: "…they won't let us stay, if we're too loud."

Are you okay, Daddy?

You bite your lip. "Yes, son, I'm okay. Now, shh… Grampa's waking up."

I nod, and stand at the edge of the bed that Grampa is in, trying to see his face. But I am too little and he is too far away, and you are talking to him right now.

"Hey, Gramps," you say. You always call him Gramps, but Mommy tells me I should call him Grampa. She says it's because it's your name for him. But you usually sound happier when you talk to him. What's wrong, Daddy? You aren't telling me!

Grampa is awake now, shifting his head on his pillow. His face is so pale! Are you sure he's Grampa, Daddy? He doesn't look like him.

"Try not to move," you tell him, and I can tell that you're trying to use the voice for when it's time for me to go to sleep, but it's all shaky, like you're waving it around. Grampa looks at you and sighs. It sounds like when Mommy is reading me a book outside, and the wind turns the pages for her. It doesn't sound like my Grampa. Are you really sure it's him, Daddy?

"Hello, Gary," the man who looks like Grampa says your name, but it's more like he's whispering. I guess it's him, because he sounds the same, underneath the wind-rustling and the whispering. But why is he this way, Daddy?

"This was bound to happen someday," he whisper-says to you. "It's a natural…" he stops talking and instead breathes in, and it sounds like paper turning pages again, except backwards "A natural," he begins again, "part of life."

You nod, in a strange, jerky way, almost like you're a robot. It's pretty funny, but I don't think I should laugh, because you said I should be quiet. "I know," you say, and your voice is all jerky too! Are you even my daddy, Daddy? You're acting all funny. "I guess I just… I'm not ready! I don't think I can handle all this, all this responsibility, and, and, I just, I-"

You stop talking, and it's now that your back hunches and your eyes leak out tears and you collapse into a chair next to the bed and cry, with your face in your hands. Now I'm afraid, because daddies DON'T cry. I nearly start to cry too, but then I remember that you said, you told me to be quiet for Grampa. And, wait, shouldn't you, too? Stop crying, Daddy, Grampa doesn't want you to cry, and I don't want you to cry. Grampa said you shouldn't be sad. I go to hug you, but all I can reach is your leg, so I just hug that. You stiffen, but then relax. You reach a hand down and slowly, gently, run your fingers through my hair again.

"You can do it." You sit up, looking at him with your red, sad eyes. Grampa is smiling. It's small, and almost breakable, like Mommy's little glass Pokemon on the special shelf that I'm not allowed to touch, but he's smiling at you, and now at me too. "You can do it," he says again. Daddy, his voice is quieter now. Grampa sounds tired. Maybe we should go?

But he's not done talking, even though his eyes are closing and he looks so tired. "You can do it all for Sam..." he says my name with a hiss, like the sound when you lick your fingers to put out the candles for Christmas dinner, which is something that Mommy says only daddies can do, "…just as I… did it all for you."

You stand up, and I let go of your leg as you move next to Grampa, and as you kneel down to hold his hand, his eyes slide closed like the glass door in the basement that goes to the backyard. And then suddenly, it's quieter than it was before. There was a beeping coming from somewhere, but I didn't hear it until it was gone. You notice too, and suddenly you are all still, like you're one of Mommy's little statues, only big. You're sad… but not crying this time. Is it because rocks don't cry? Or are you just out of tears?

I take a step closer to you, and you turn your head towards me. You stand up, in that strange robot way, but as you pick me up and hold me close, I know you are my daddy. No matter how sad, no matter how quiet Grampa is right now, no matter how shaky and broken-glass-like your voice gets as you press buttons and more women in funny hats come into the room to see Grampa, see him so still, you will always be my daddy. Even if you do cry, you're still my daddy, because sometimes, even daddies have to cry.

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**Was it properly sad? Did I tug a heartstring or two? Do please let me know via reviews. I do love feedback and, if I have time, I will gladly respond to your questions. I'd really maybe like to get back to writing fanfiction again when I have short bursts of time, but feedback, be it positive or negative, helps to shape just what I end up writing! I'd especially appreciate comments on my writing style.**

**But, hey, this is in now way meant to be a moment where I try and guilt people into reviewing. It means so, so much to me that you guys take the time to even skim this fic, let alone read it. So thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. Enjoy your end-of-year-festivities!**

**Cheers, paz, and all that jazz,  
Carp  
**


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